


Encounter

by crabbynsfw



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other, Reader-Insert, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crabbynsfw/pseuds/crabbynsfw
Summary: L shadows Light at a college party. It doesn't go well, but he meets someone interesting, and that almost makes up for it.





	Encounter

Ryuzaki presses his thumb to his mouth as he tries to keep his gaze locked on Light through the dim, crowded room. This isn’t his idea of a fun time, and he sincerely doubts it’s Light’s either, even though Light insisted he came here to meet some of his fellow students and talk to girls. This is a ploy of some kind, a distraction, a ruse so that he can get away with something without him seeing.

Or maybe Light’s just trying to tire him out so he can’t put his full energy and effort into the Kira case. Maybe it’s working. 

Or he could just be a regular college student looking to have a fun night. “It’s rare anyone has a house party, only a few of the students live anywhere that can accommodate one,” he had said when he was explaining his reasoning to Ryuzaku earlier. “It might be nice to meet someone other than at a bar or club.” The chance that Light is Kira is still very low, so the probability that he’s telling the truth is pretty high.

But he can’t shake that lingering, uncharacteristically irrational suspicion.

He pushes his way through the crowd, trying to move closer to Light under the guise of sticking close to his only “friend” at the party, but the crowd pushes back, and he finds himself unable to maneuver through it.

Frustration wells up inside of him as Light disappears from his view, walking into another room while smiling at some girl and looking entirely innocuous. If Light’s plan was truly to distract Ryuzaki with the crowd, he’s succeeded already, and could quickly finish whatever it is he wanted to do before Ryuzaki finds him again. If he’s only here to be a normal college student, Ryuzaki shouldn’t have come at all.

Either way, there’s likely little point in staying here much longer. Ryuzaki wonders if he should go home.

* * *

Some guy is trying to talk himself up and you really can’t be bothered to care. He’s not your type and you couldn’t be less interested in how good is GPA is despite being in two sports clubs.

You look away, across the crowd, trying to communicate your disinterest without having to say it out loud. Your eyes accidentally lock with some guy pressed up against the wall - dark hair, dark circles under his eyes, deathly pale skin, plain white shirt. He’s not exactly dressed for a party and he doesn’t really look like he was mentally prepared either, judging by the way his eyes have gone wide and round like a frog’s and his anxious gaze sweeping over the crowd.

His eyes linger on you for only a moment.

The guy in front of you is still talking.

“Cool, cool,” you say, interrupting him. “I’ve gotta go to the ladies room, okay?”

And then, without even looking at him, you make your way across the room and around the dancers in the middle to the other side, where the dark haired guy is.

“Hey,” you call out, once you’re close enough to him to be heard over the loud music, “I haven’t seen you around before.”

His head swivels around to face you like a meercat’s would. “Ah,” he says, though you more see the motion of his lips than hear it because he says it too quietly to be heard over the noise, “you didn’t see me at the opening ceremony?”

You shake your head. Now that you’ve got his attention, this guy’s gaze is unsettlingly unwavering. It’s weird. You like weird. “I didn’t go, I was sick that day.”

His gaze flicks up and down, looking you up. It’s quick, but you still catch it. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t know me,” he says, simply. He doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist.

“What’s your name?” you say, stepping in a little closer. He looks a little taken aback and you wonder if you’re coming on too strong.

“Ryuga Hideki,” he says.

You tell him your name and he just continues to stare at you blankly.

You furrow your brow at him. “Um, no offense, but you look kinda uncomfortable standing around here.” You glance down at his feet. He’s fidgeting.

“That’s because I  _am_  uncomfortable standing here,” he says.

You smile and try not to chuckle at how earnest it is to admit that. “Do you wanna...?” you trail off, gesturing to the stairs. The people are probably more sparse on the second floor.

Ryuga follows your gesture, looking at the stairs and ceiling for a long moment, like this is somehow an important decision, then finally snaps back to you. “Yes.”

You turn, prompting him to follow you. He lingers just behind you, shoulders hunched, and you can feel him staring at your back. It’s a little spooky, if you’re being honest. But you can get into spooky.

You lead him to an empty room, sitting on the bed as though you owned the place. The bedspread is already a little messed up, and you can guess someone else had been here earlier in the night. He stands awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before sitting next to you, pulling up his knees and tucking them under his chin, his feet on the bed.

You shoot him a funny look. “You kinda seem like you haven’t gotten enough drinks in you yet.”

He smiles a little. “That’s because I haven’t been drinking at all.” His eyes keep flicking over to the door, as though he’s waiting or watching for someone.

You raise your brows at him. “Really? Man, I only had a beer earlier, I can’t believe there’s someone here who’s had less to drink than me.” You look over at the door. “What’s wrong? You want me to close it?”

“No,” he says, a little too quickly.

You look back at him, at his dark eyes fixated on the doorway, and his nearly unearthly concentration makes you shiver. He’s giving you short, clipped answers, but it’s not because he’s unintelligent - if anything, it somehow feels like there are machinations going on inside his head that you couldn’t possibly understand.

“Why’d you come here tonight, Ryuga?” you ask.

He’s focused on you again, this time reluctantly, like he feels he’s supposed to be somewhere else. That thin, small smile is back, pushed out of shape by his thumb as he presses it against his upper lip. “Ah,” he says again, “I don’t think I should tell you that.”

* * *

This is a new situation for Ryuzaki, and he has to admit it’s intriguing. He’s not always well versed in social cues, but he knows enough to realize that this person is interested in him.

Still. The probability that this is somehow part of Light’s plan is incredibly low, lower than 1%, but he shouldn’t let his guard down too much.

But he’s lost sight of Light long ago, and his new companion’s clothing quite obviously doesn’t have any concealed weapons underneath. So long as he doesn’t let anything about the Kira case slip, he’s in no real danger, and he resolves to call the night a bust in regards to his investigation.

Perhaps he could take a stab at being a normal college student, even if only to determine whether Light is really acting like one himself, Ryuzaki reasons, as his gaze slips down from your face, to your neck, to your chest.

* * *

You catch him staring at your chest and give him a funny look. You really can’t quite figure this guy out. He’s aloof, for sure, and secretive, but it doesn’t seem like he’s not into you.

You keep trying to pry a conversation out of him, but he's alternating between being too honest and too tight lipped. You ask what he’s studying and he says he’s “undecided about being enrolled at all.” You ask what he does in his free time, and he gives you a bemused look and says, “I can’t say.”

Eventually, you realize you aren’t going to wrestle anything meaningful out of him, and decide to be a little more forward. 

“Ryuga,” you say, leaning towards him, dangerously close to his face. “I asked before, but I’m going to ask again: Why did you come here tonight?”

He lets out a halted exhale, then inhales sharply. The corners of his mouth are twitching, like he wants to smile broader but he’s not sure how. “It seems as though you want me to admit to something lewd. I can tell you, sincerely, that’s not why I came here. But I shouldn’t say any more than that.”

“Oh,” you say, sitting up straight again and feeling just a little put out.

He looks at you with those big, round eyes for a moment before he adds, “I didn’t say I found the idea of doing something lewd unappealing.” He shifts in his seat. “Now is a good time to close the door, if you like.”

You raise your brows at him and let out a surprised chuckle. Wordlessly, you get up, quietly close and lock the door, turn to face him, and pull your shirt over your head.

Ryuga looks both a little alarmed and fascinated. You notice it as you reach behind you to unclasp your bra.

“Are you a virgin?” you ask, suddenly anxious.

“No,” he says, and he takes another long pause before finishing, “but it would be a lie to say I’m experienced.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. He’s staring at your chest very blatantly and it’s nerve wracking. “Do you want to do this?”

“Yes,” he says, a little breathless, and it’s the first time he doesn’t sound completely calculated.

You unclasp your bra, taking out the condom you kept tucked in the cup and slipping it into your pocket, before dumping the bra unceremoniously on the floor. Your face feels warm as he shamelessly watches your chest move with your breathing as you approach him.

You slide back onto the bed, cup his face in your hands, and kiss him.

It’s impossible to tell what he’s into, so you start out slow and gentle, assuming he can adjust your pace to his liking. He kisses back awkwardly, mechanically, not like someone nervous and unsure, but like a robot making the motions for the first time. He only shifts slightly out of his weird sitting position, letting one knee drop down towards the bed as he twists his body to place his hands on your waist.

His hands creep up towards your chest as you lean into the kiss, gently moving your lips against his. You reach out clumsily and blindly, your hand landing somewhere on his thigh. You slide your hand up, feeling his thigh through the loose jeans, up towards his chest.

You find yourself pushing him back onto the bed, and he’s sitting so close to the edge that he nearly tumbles off, but thankfully ends up with only an arm and a leg dangling off the side. His dark hair looks even messier spread across the bedspread, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced by the shitty bedside table lamp. 

You position yourself on top of him, grinding down on his cock. It doesn’t feel like he’s quite hard yet, but judging by his irregular breathing, you’re at least having an effect on him. He stares up at you with those dark eyes, watching, waiting, his mouth somewhere between a gasp and a grin.

You start to push up his shirt, and he hums thoughtfully.

“Yes?” you ask, gleefully admiring his tummy and the smattering of hair you can see poking out from the jeans sitting loosely around his hips.

“I would prefer to be on top,” he says, and before you have time to respond, he’s hooked his legs behind your knees and used it as leverage to flip you over onto your back.

You’re breathless for a moment, surprised, but you laugh loudly as soon as you realize what happened. It’s like he’s play-wrestling with you.

When you stop giggling, you realize he’s staring down at you, smiling and watching your chest as it moves with your laughter. He looms over you, shoulders hunched, and suddenly you feel very much like a specimen that he’s examining.

It’s kinda hot. You press your thighs together in an attempt to relieve some of the heat and pressure building in your pussy.

He notices.

“Ah,” he says, “you’re aroused. May I?”

His hands hover over the waist of your pants and you nod.

He makes short work of your pants and underwear, pulling the condom out of your pocket before tossing them to the side, pushing your thighs apart and positioning himself between your legs. He spends a moment admiring your pussy, and again you feel like you’re being observed under a microscope.

“Listen, I’m really fucking horny now,” you confess, hooking one of your legs around him. “I’m all for taking it slow another time, but can we hurry up with this?”

He smiles that strange little smile, and you get the sense that he’s bursting with pride even though his expression doesn’t look much different.

He unbuttons his jeans, shoving them down just enough to pull out his cock from his boxers. His dick isn’t that thick, but it’s long, and as you watch him roll the condom on, you can already imagine how nice it’s gonna feel inside you. He doesn’t remove any of his other clothing but you don’t complain about it.

He presses into you slowly, gauging your reaction by watching your face, but you’re so wet you could easily take him in one go. You roll your hips towards his and he seems to get the idea, finally bottoming out inside you and filling you up, his cock stretching you open.

He fucks you in slow, languid strokes. After the first few thrusts he seems to lose control of his face, faltering, his expression screwing up in a way that you hadn’t imagined was possible for him before. He buries his face in your neck immediately, and you can feel his breath hitting your skin in hot, heavy puffs. His hair smells like old, dusty books and electrical fires. His hands are somewhere above your head, clutching at pillows.

He humps your cunt like something inside him has broken, like whatever careful thought and intellect he’s been putting into every action so far has suddenly slipped away. You wrap your arms around him, grabbing at his shirt, your pussy clamping down around his cock as he fucks you. You moan into his ear and he lets out a strangled noise in response, like he’s not sure how his voice works anymore. 

He starts grinding against you every time he presses fully inside you, and you release choked gasps as his crotch brushes against your clit. You stop being able to see clearly - the ceiling is just a blur, your vision toned out in favor of focusing on your need to cum.

“Look at me,” you manage to say in between ragged breaths. “I want you to watch.”

With a considerable amount of effort, he sits up enough to look at you. His dark eyes are lidded, his hair plastered to his face from both his sweat and yours. You focus your vision just enough to see how intently he’s staring at you. He watches, his mouth slightly open, as you shudder underneath him.

Your face feels unbelievably hot, hotter than the warmth of your pussy as he fucks you, ramming sharply into you now. Your chest feels tight.

“Are you close?” he asks, punctuating his question with a hard thrust, and his voice sounds deeper than it did before. “Go on. I’m watching.”

You let out a pathetic, keening noise as your cunt spasms around his dick, writhing on the bed. He watches with interest the whole time, and you have to look away, turning your face towards the sheets in embarrassment as you twitch, cresting the orgasm and then coming down, boneless and sensitive underneath him.

He keeps fucking you, gently and methodically as you whine and buck your hips against him, until he finally tenses above you. His mouth hangs open still, his brow twitching and his eyes sliding shut, and suddenly he pulls out of you with a choked gasp.

He falls on the bed next to you, and he’s barely laid there for half a minute before his phone rings. He’s up in an instant, sitting in that strange position and dangling the phone near his ear.

“Hello?” he says, and then he’s silent for a long while.

He murmurs something into the phone after that, but you don’t hear it, and he abruptly hangs up and shoves the phone back in his pocket.

You sit up, watching as he disposes of the condom in a waste bin in the corner of the room and fixes himself in his pants.

“I have to go,” he says, not turning to look at you. “I’m sorry.”

“Hang on,” you say, covering yourself with the bedspread, feeling self conscious at his change of mood. “Can’t I get your number or something?”

“I’m afraid not,” he replies, evidently not feeling the need to explain further.

“But I only know your name,” you say, a little incredulously. You weren’t expecting this to be an ongoing  _thing_ , but seriously? You couldn’t pry any personal info from him earlier and now he’s not even gonna give you his number?

“No, you don’t,” he says, voice almost imperceptibly tinged with melancholy, and then he’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> its the year of our lorde 2017 and death note is back baby


End file.
